I can be hot, cold, moist, dry. I can cry, and and throw a tantrum, lay ruin like an act of God. You ask how I am, in meaningless small conversations, but I am constantly in your life. What am I?

I twist and turn, I help to tell, without me, words would be a spell.

I started big, but now am small. Most people have them all. I am an addiction, I am a tool, in your lap or on your desk. I bring most joy, some frustration. I am modern, and I am everywhere.

Hawk wasn't hot, but took me nine hundred degrees. Four wheels on two trucks won't make any deliveries. A nose that don't smell, a tail that don't wag.I ride on a ramp but I'm not handicapped.

I am made of deposits found on the land, in puddles, in mud, and even in sand. I can form into models as it's what I do, but I can also be used for art projects too.